


Last Women on Earth

by theoreticalfic



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticalfic/pseuds/theoreticalfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Left 4 Dead. Now with femslash! I don't really know what else to say about this. It turns out I really will find any excuse to ship femslash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Women on Earth

i.

"So," Rochelle said as Zoey settled into a chair, "I guess I'm not the last woman on earth."

"I was just thinking that," Zoey said, smiling. She opened up her health kit and pulled out a bottle of soda. "Caffeine!" she said triumphantly.

Rochelle smiled, remembering the gun shop owner who'd only helped them in exchange for a six-pack of Coke. "You don't have to stay up with me."

Zoey unscrewed the cap of the soda bottle carefully, knowing that the crazed rush of battling zombies probably shook it up pretty badly. "Oh, no, it's fine. I know caffeine's probably not the healthiest idea during a zombie apocalypse, but every now and then it's okay. Just gotta maintain a decent sleep schedule, make sure..." She stopped, almost embarrassed.

"You've learned a lot about survival these past few--" Rochelle started, but Zoey cut her off.

"Actually, I watched a lot of zombie movies _before_ any of this. I've been prepared for a while now. It seemed stupid at the time, but..." Here she gave a short laugh.

"Never really watched any, but I'm starting to regret that decision," Rochelle admitted.

Zoey closed her eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath. "I'm so glad I'm not just the chick that dies, y'know?"

"Amen to that," Rochelle agreed, then turned thoughtful. "Still, I'm guessing in those zombie movies, the survivors are a bunch of white folks, huh?"

"Actually, the hero of _Night of the Living Dead_ is a black guy," Zoey said, and did not add _but he gets killed at the end by some hick who thinks he's a zombie_.

"Really."

"Uh-huh." Before the Infection, before any of this zombie apocalypse bullshit, Zoey would have loved discussing _Night of the Living Dead_ with anybody. Now it just seemed stupid, talking about zombie movies when she was actually living in one.

Rochelle seemed to sense that the conversation was going nowhere, and so she asked, "So, what's it like being the only lady in your group? Sleep cradlin' your rifle, one eye open, in case they try repopulatin' the earth with you?"

Zoey was thankful that she was not drinking her soda at that moment, or she would have spit it all over the floor. "Oh, God, no," she said between laughs. "I mean, at first it was a little awkward, yeah, but... oh, my God, I can't even imagine." She stopped laughing enough to say, "So I'm guessing you don't have that problem either." She raised an eyebrow. "Nick and Ellis, huh?"

It was Rochelle's turn to laugh. "And they think I don't know!"

"Are you kidding?" Zoey began to laugh again. It was a good feeling; laughs seemed few and far between when zombies were trying to kill you. "Good for them. Gettin' it on during the apocalypse. _Someone_ should."

"Jealous, are we?" Rochelle asked with a slight smile.

"Yeah, well... it's been a _while_ ," Zoey sighed. "Not since... fuck, not since college. And the last few safe rooms were just little rooms, not enough privacy to even -- oh, wow, sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this." She reddened slightly.

"No, I know exactly what you mean," Rochelle agreed. "It's been a damn long time, and this zombie apocalypse sure isn't making my chances any better."

"Well, I'm just glad there are other chicks out there that survived," Zoey said, wondering if Rochelle would catch the hint, and if she did, if it would create any awkwardness.

Rochelle merely raised an eyebrow that seemed to say _I get it_.

"So, yeah, I'm _really_ not planning on repopulating the earth anytime soon," Zoey said. She shrugged and hoped to change the subject before awkward silence could take over.

Rochelle smiled and said, "I guess the earth is doomed," and Zoey wondered if that meant what she thought it did, or if that was wishful thinking.

\-------------------------------

ii.

Zoey leaned her rifle against the wall and set her two pistols down on the nightstand. Pulling out her hairband and letting her hair fall, she was glad to finally, for the first time in a long time, really relax. She unzipped her red jacket and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, not caring that her white shirt underneath it was stained with sweat and blood.

She untied her shoes carefully -- never leave your shoes loose enough to kick off, that's just common fucking zombie apocalypse sense -- and looked over at Rochelle, who was removing her earrings.

 _Speaking of common fucking zombie apocalypse sense..._ "You shouldn't wear those," Zoey said. Noting that Rochelle was now undoing her belt, Zoey flushed slightly and clarified, "Your earrings. They're easy targets for zombies to grab."

Zoey quickly added, "You don't have to just... give them up. You could still keep them." She reached in her pocket for her own useless but sentimental trinket: the shell casing of a .22 pistol, the first bullet she'd ever shot, at a practice range with her father, years ago. Long before the zombie apocalyspe. Learning how to use a gun probably saved her life when the Infection hit.

But Rochelle just laughed. "I never thought of that. It's just a habit, putting on my earrings every morning... I guess I won't wear them anymore." She was now removing her pants, and Zoey tried not to stare. There were some bruises and scars from battling zombies, but _damn_ , her legs were pretty much perfect. Zoey looked at the floor.

Rochelle smiled at Zoey's obvious embarrassment. "You weren't planning on sleeping in jeans, were you?" she asked.

Zoey shrugged. "I got used to it," she mumbled, but began undoing her own belt slowly, and suddenly found Rochelle's hands on her waist, pulling at the belt.

"Need help with that?"

Zoey sputtered and looked up in surprise. Rochelle had a sly grin on her face.

"What--" Zoey started.

"Don't tell me you haven't been thinking about this," Rochelle whispered.

Zoey mumbled "Yeah" in a short breath, though she could barely keep a coherent thought in her head, what with a pantsless Rochelle now doing her best to get Zoey in the same state of semi-undress.

Zoey tugged at the collar of Rochelle's Depeche Mode shirt, pulling her in for a rough, desperate kiss. Rochelle pushed Zoey back on the bed, still kissing her, and it occurred to Zoey that she was pretty sure Rochelle was maybe ten years older than her. It also occurred to her that she didn't care. Just to touch someone again... fuck.

"Fuck," she breathed aloud.

"Yeah, yeah, we're gettin' to that," Rochelle murmured, yanking Zoey's pants down around her ankles as quickly as she could. Zoey kicked them off to the floor, not caring where they ended up. She pulled her own shirt up over her head, sports bra following -- much more practical for the zombie apocalypse and, she mused, much more practical for taking off in a hurry as well -- suddenly feeling rather self-conscious of the scar across her torso where a Hunter had raked its claws. Rochelle, who had been taking her own shirt and bra off, now looked at Zoey, concerned.

"Are you--" Rochelle started, tentatively reaching out to trace the scar with her finger.

Zoey trembled slightly at the touch, trying not to be too distracted by Rochelle's shirtlessness. "It's fine, it's healed, _please_ ," she whispered.

"Please what?"

"Don't... let it stop you?" she said awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed again. "Just..."

Rochelle seemed to understand, leaning down to kiss Zoey again. Zoey pulled their bodies closer, her hands at Rochelle's waist, wanting to slide her hands past Rochelle's waistband but not thinking coherently enough to remember how to do so.

"Fuck," she breathed again, "I--" She gasped as Rochelle pulled at her boxers, fingers running over her right _there_ and _fuck_ , that was good...

Rochelle seemed to realize that Zoey was gasping too much to effectively kiss back, so she began to kiss along Zoey's neck instead, now running her fingers along Zoey's thighs almost lazily.

" _Please_ ," Zoey managed, pathetically. "Fuck, _please_."

\-------------------------------

iii.

For the first time in ... well, as long as Zoey could remember, in the middle of the apocalypse, in a small room in a barricaded house surrounded by zombies, Zoey felt alive.

\-------------------------------

END.


End file.
